50th Hunger Games
by Ybot
Summary: A one-shot capturing a piece of what Haymitch's Hunger Games experience was like.


Sunlight filtered through the forest's leafy canopy in small patches, illuminating perfect flowers that dotted the earth. A blend of delicious scents assaulted the boy's senses—sharp pine, succulent rose, tantalizing hints of honey. Birds overhead twittered in harmony, creating a heavenly chorus as a warm breeze drifted across his face. He stood in the most breathtaking setting in the entire world.

This fact was completely irrelevant to Haymitch Abernathy, a strong seventeen year old boy with olive skin and dark curly hair. He had gotten over the striking vista in approximately two seconds after first laying his bright gray eyes upon it. This wasn't to say that he couldn't appreciate the sights and smells surrounding him, but it did mean that he hadn't been caught up in the exquisite splendor like the others had been. This had given him a head-start. An advantage—a crucial one, at that.

Haymitch spotted two people out of the corner of his eye and his body kicked into action. He dove behind a tree and waited for a moment to discover if either of them had seen him. Neither of them made any sound to indicate that either one of the duo had noticed anything out of the ordinary, so he risked peeking out from behind his tree.

The two people, a boy and girl in their early teens, crept through the woods, stepping lightly as though they thought the ground might fall out from beneath their feet.

"I need a break," complained the girl. "Do you have any water left?"

"We just had a break," replied her companion, frowning in annoyance. "How can you be tired?"

"I'm dehydrated and ill-rested," she snapped. "Maybe I could march for longer if I actually got a little water in my system."

"It's all gone. We finished it off earlier today, remember? Besides, I'm sure they'll send rain soon."

"Maybe…" she sighed. A pair of butterflies fluttered by her face and she softened, holding her arm out for them to land on. "You don't know when they'll be sending rain, do you, little guys?"

They touched down on her arm and sat there for a few moments as she examined them. Haymitch didn't even try to warn them. It was cruel to let the situation play out, but in reality, he was watching himself inch closer to victory. Then she began to scream. She shook her arm wildly and the innocent-looking creatures took to the sky as bright orange welts rose from the spots upon which they had made contact with the girl's flesh. She grabbed her injured arm and fell to her knees, still screaming at the top of her lungs. After a few more seconds of this, she abruptly fell silent and crumpled to the ground, her body beginning to convulse. Foam pooled at her lips, her eyes stretched wide in their sockets, and then she fell still.

"Abigail! …Crap!" growled Jackson, his expression of shock changing to one of frustration.

Haymitch knew exactly why Abigail's death angered Jackson as opposed to distressing him. It meant his chances of survival had lowered both from losing his partner and the commotion she had created upon dying.

A cannon sounded somewhere in the distance, and Haymitch averted his eyes, grimacing. He had experienced the misery induced by the butterfly's stinger first hand and had barely lived to tell the tale. A sudden crashing in the underbrush made him look back up. Three figures launched themselves out from the bushes to the teenager's left, armed to the teeth with axes, swords and spears. Like a lion drawn to fresh meat, the hunting pack had arrived.

Jackson turned to run but he was stopped as a spear rammed through his back, striking him to the ground.

"Nice throw, Magister!" cheered one of the new arrivals as they converged on their target's body and dispatched him properly, resulting in another far-off cannon blast.

"Neither of them have anything on them." The second assailant scowled. "Let's move on."

The three murderers began to march forward—right towards Haymitch. He cursed inwardly and drew a hunting knife from his belt. As soon as his opponents were close enough, he launched himself from behind the tree and drove his knife through the spear thrower's chest. He ripped it back out and threw it, sending it spinning into the throat of his next adversary before ducking under the sword slash of the final one. He was unable to avoid the follow-up kick which hit him squarely in the chest. He gasped and stumbled backwards, only to receive a blow from the killer's hilt on the side of his head.

The force of the strike spun him around and brought him to his hands and knees. Before he had time to recover, his foe grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged him to his feet.

Boom! Boom! Cannon fire affirmed the fate of the two boys Haymitch had just stabbed. Even as he struggled to escape the third murderer's grip, he knew that the next cannon would announce his own death.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his foe raise a sword to his neck, and then something strange happened. Haymitch's enemy let out a sudden cry of agony and released him. The killer clawed at what appeared to be a dart in his neck for a few moments before falling to the ground.

A cannon sounded and a girl stepped out from behind the trees, holding a blowgun. He knew her. She was a tribute from his own District, Maysilee Donner. "We'd live longer with two of us working together," she offered.

"Guess you just proved that," muttered Haymitch, rubbing his neck. "Allies?"

Maysilee nodded, and Haymitch became that much closer. That much closer to winning the Fiftieth Annual Hunger Games.


End file.
